


from living in the snow

by figure8



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Homesickness, M/M, the author projects all her diaspora feelings on chinaline: the saga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: And if the snow buries myMy neighborhoodAnd if my parents are cryingThen I'll dig a tunnelFrom my window to yoursYeah, a tunnel from my window to yours





	from living in the snow

When it gets cold, sometimes, Minghao looks for shelter between the wall and Junhui’s body, in the narrow space of Junhui’s bed. It’s the bottom bunk bed, the frame metal, icy. There is nothing comfortable about cramming two long-limbed boys onto one mattress, except maybe how warm Junhui is in the night, except maybe the hushed Mandarin between 2 AM and sunrise.

There is a price to pay, always. Win a little, lose a lot. Closer to his dream but drifting further and further away from home, Minghao clings to Junhui like a drowning man to a raft, but only in the darkness. At night there are no lies to tell. It is honest, the way Jun curls up against him, seeking and open.

Minghao is honest in return, palm spread over Jun’s shoulder blade, hot and human, a thin layer of cotton the only barrier left. Minghao has other anchors, he has the hard floor of the dance practice room and he has the happy screams when he goes on stage and he has the ring on his pinky and he has Mingyu; but Junhui, Junhui is the port, Junhui is the rope, and the wind, and the boat. Junhui is Minghao’s name pronounced exactly as it should be, Junhui is _don't eat that, you’ll hate it_ without even raising his head from his own plate, Junhui is shared airpods on long flights and fingers drumming foreign rhythms on Minghao’s thigh.

Nose pressed to Jun’s nape, Minghao mumbles _I feel bad,_ and Jun knows. They link hands over Jun’s chest, over Jun’s heart. Home, home is far. _Home,_ Minghao thinks, as he kisses Jun’s neck, gentle and aerial, _is what you take with you on the journey._


End file.
